


Today's the Day

by TheThirdAmell



Series: Accursed Ones [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Choose Your Own Adventure, Oghren style, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdAmell/pseuds/TheThirdAmell
Summary: You're Oghren Kondrat - Grey Warden! You were a lieutenant in the army. You were a hero at the Battle of Denerim. You were the best warrior Orzammar had ever seen.... You were a lot of things.You're nothing but a drunk, now, but today that changes. Today your sorry self quits drinking.
Series: Accursed Ones [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/264574
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	Today's the Day

Today’s the day.  
  
Today’s the day your sorry ass quits drinking.  
  
You’re Oghren fucking Kondrat - Grey Warden! You were a lieutenant in the army. You were a hero at the Battle of Denerim. You were the best damn warrior Orzammar had ever seen.  
  
… You were a lot of shit.  
  
You wake up feeling like it. Shit, that is. The kind of shit that would rather crawl back up its own ass than face the day. You soaked through the bed. Again. Maybe it’s sweat. Maybe it’s booze. Maybe you pissed yourself. The mattress stinks like mildew and rot, and the straw’s prolly ruined.  
  
The mattress is gonna come out of your stipend. That’s coin your son ain’t gonna see unless you ask the Commander to spot you. So what’s it gonna be? Which Amell are you going to disappoint? 

Big Amell  
Little Amell

Someone’s gotta pay for the mattress. Commander can spare the coin. It’s prolly gonna make him think less of you, but … sod it.  
  
You didn’t do right by Felsi. You gotta do right by your kid. The little one tears you up inside. Nugget's gonna learn his words soon and you gotta give him a reason for ‘da’ to be one of them.  
  
You can start by staying sober, but your hangover’s pounding away at your head like a stallion at a ripe mare, and you’d do anything to make it stop. 

Go back to sleep  
Spiced Wine’d fix it. Wine don’t count as drinking, does it?  
Maybe Sparkles has some magic cure for hangovers

You gotta pay for the mattress somehow. Your son won’t miss the coin. It’s prolly gonna make him think less of you when he's grown, but … sod it.  
  
You didn’t do right by Felsi. Why should your kid be any different? All of it tears you up inside and makes you want a drink. Nugget's gonna learn his words soon and you ain't giving him a reason for ‘da’ to be one of them.  
  
You gotta start by staying sober, but your hangover’s pounding away at your head like a stallion at a ripe mare, and you’d do anything to make it stop.

Go back to sleep  
Spiced Wine’d fix it. Wine don’t count as drinking, does it?  
Maybe Sparkles has some magic cure for hangovers

Fuck it. You’ll try again tomorrow. 

Try again tomorrow?

You’re not getting drunk, you’re just having a drink. Nothing wrong with a drink. You don’t remember much of the day, but you know for sure you do not get drunk. You can tell when you’re drunk. You’re just have a good time with your friends.  
  
Somewhere around sunset, you lose your pants. It’s not because you’re drunk - you’re not - it’s because you couldn’t trust ‘em. They could be schleets! Sparkles warned you about schleets - demons that possess pants and wait for you to put ‘em on so they can strike!  
  
“They eat your eyeballs!” You warn the Commander that evening, as he helps you back to the barracks. “And then wander off on their unnatural pant legs!”  
  
“I’ve heard,” Amell agrees sagely, “Do you know the best part about them?”  
  
“The best… part?”  
  
“They’re not real,” Amell grins, laying you out in your bunk. Mattress is dry. He must have replaced it. He should prolly replace you too.  
  
“... So it was a joke,” You realize. “... Like me. Told myself I was gonna quit drinking… shoulda known better. That clay’s been shaped and fired and nothing’ll change me.”  
  
“You’re not a joke, Oghren,” Amell promises, and you try and believe in him, because he always believes in you. “You’re just drunk. Get some rest. You can always try again tomorrow.” 

Try again tomorrow?

Your fat ass slithers out of bed and onto the floor like a watery shit, and you think maybe this was a mistake. The barracks spins around you like the top you bought for your kid, and you throw up a little in your mouth. There’s nowhere to spit, so you swallow something that tastes like eggs. You don’t remember eating eggs, but at least that takes care of breakfast.  
  
Walking don’t seem like it’s happening. You crawl your way towards the door, leaving behind a trail of ruddy chesthair as you drag your stomach across the cold stone. At least you can follow it back to bed once you find Sparkles, but someone finds you first. Two big metal feet plop down in front of you, and you follow them up to see death itself staring down at you.  
  
You squeal like a stuck pig, and scrabble back across the floor like one before you realize it’s just Justice.  
  
Eheheh… Just Justice…  
  
“I have alarmed you,” The corpse says, in that proper way of his that reminds you a little too much of a deshyr at the Assembly. “This was not my intent. You appear to be having some difficulty walking. Are you injured? Should I get Anders?”

The corpse creeps you out. You should be used to it by now, but you aren’t.   
He ain’t wrong. Besides, less walking for you if Sparkles comes to you. 

“Sod off. Didn’t ask for your help, did I?” You worm your way to your feet, and the corpse shambles off. Creepy fucking thing, but right now it walks better than you do.  
  
Maybe you should have let it help you. Ancestors know you can’t help yourself. You make it a few stumbling feet towards the door when the elf calls down at you from somewhere up in her bunk.  
  
“Had a bit too much fun last night?”  
  
“Don't say anything,” You groan, “Every noise feels like a rusty nail shoved into my forehead.”  
  
“I can help,” The elf offers, though you can’t figure why. Ain’t like she’s sweet on you. Ain’t like anyone is. “I had clanmates as bad as you.”  
  
“Ain’t no one bad as me,” You spot her feet, hanging over the edge with calluses like leather soles, and if you hadn’t thrown up earlier you might now.  
  
“They came close,” Elf chuckles. “If you can make it to the kitchens, I can get you a root that will serve as a remedy for your withdrawal.” 

It couldn’t hurt  
It could hurt

"Sod it, let's go," You say. Velanna hops off her bunk and you toddle after her to the kitchens, where she mixes up some elfy shit for you to drink. It ain’t booze, but it ain’t bad, and sure as shit your hangover is gone.  
  
You feel like a new man. One who bathes and changes his underclothes, and not just inside out. You feel like you could do anything! You could write a letter to Felsi and the nugget. You could find Sparkles or the Commander for a game of Diamondback or dice or whatever else you want.  
  
You feel like whooping for joy, but you can’t woop. You can barely breathe. Your tongue swells up like a slug in your mouth, and the throbbing comes back with a vengeance.  
  
“What’s wrong with you, woman!?” You slur, “What did you do to me?”  
  
“I repaid you for last night,” Velanna laughs and leaves.  
  
You don’t remember what you did last night to deserve this. It feels like the Broodmother of all hangovers and you gotta do something before a genlock pops right out of your skull. 

Go find some water  
Go find a drink

“You thumperhumpers ain’t making this easy,” You mutter. You can’t trust any of them. You flee from the Keep for the courtyard. The day the well bucket pulls up ale, you’re a dead man, but for now it’s still water. You take a long drink and pour what you don’t finish over your head.  
  
Still throbbing like a … naw, too easy. Point is, your head still hurts, but at least you’re awake. You’re also outside. Sun’s warm, and looking up into that big blue emptiness is like being swallowed up by an infinite nothing.

It’s okay  
It’s not okay

"Forget it," You grumble. You'll find some other way to deal with your hangover. You stumble your way out of the barracks and into the bowels of Vigil’s Keep. The fortress is up and alive, soldiers and servants flowing like farts through the halls, and you get swept up along with them.  
  
They spit you out into the dining hall. From a far corner, a shadow waves at you. The darkness assembles itself into the vague shape of a human as you make your way over, until it turns into Archy. He looks like he had your night, leather-clad fingers clutching his tankard tight as a hanged man’s noose. He’s got a whole pitcher beside him, and he don’t even say nothing. Just pours you a cup and pushes it over.

Next to the shit they served at Tapsters, it’s basically water.  
Water’s water. Go find some.

“Aye, would ya?” You ask.  
  
The corpse runs off to play fetch, and you figure you could use a tunic. Ain’t none of them been washed, and a few got stains you’re pretty sure pre-date the Blight. You find one that’s only yellowed in the pits, and wriggle your way into it. You thought you were moving fast, but the corpse is back with Sparkles before you can get your beard out of it.  
  
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Sparkles cooes, swinging round to sit on the edge of your bed before you can warn him off. “To what do I owe the pleas-Augh! Andraste’s knicker-weasels, what’s on your bunk?”  
  
“What’d ya think?” You snort, because you honestly don’t know.  
  
“This is just-... why? Why are you like this? Maker, it smells like - I don’t even know what it smells like. Can you like, fart or something? I honestly think it would smell better.”  
  
“Har-fucking-har,” You laugh, but it ain’t funny. If you knew why you were like this, you wouldn't be like this. “You got anything for hangovers?”  
  
“I got another drink,” Sparkles grins when he’s done poking at you. “Woolsey imported this Dandelion Wine from Orlais that I’ve been dying to try. I was thinking of adding some elfroot to it and calling it a ‘restorative draft.’ What do you think?” 

He’s the healer, ain’t he? If he says drink, may as well drink.   
You’re trying to quit, remember?

“I think you’re onto something,” You grin. You follow Sparkles to the kitchens, where he fixes you up with his ‘restorative draft’ and damned if it ain’t that. Your hangover is cured. With this kind of drink around, you’ll never have to worry about a hangover again.  
  
You belch a happy belch, and Sparkles wrinkles his nose, “I’m just going to assume that something died in your mouth.”  
  
“Funny story: dwarf attacks mage. Dwarf wins.” And honestly, for another one of those drafts, you just might.  
  
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Sparkles snorts, filling up his tankard and refilling yours, “So what do you think of the draft? Does it have a future?”  
  
“Better one than me,” You say.

You can stop whenever you want.

“Fuck it,” You take the drink. There’s no flavor to it. For all you know it might actually be water, “What’s got you drinking this early?”  
  
“Perhaps the better question is what has me drinking this late,” Archy counters. “I was thinking of… all this. My family's home. What it’s become… Have you ever thought of returning to Orzammar?”  
  
“Not sure I can,” You say, “Technically, I’m a surface dwarf now.”  
  
“Why ‘technically?’” Arch asks, “You don’t know for certain?”  
  
“It’s not like they send you a letter.” You snort, “‘Congratulations! You have been ejected from the warrior caste!’”  
  
“Do you care?”  
  
“Sometimes…” You’re not sure how much you’ve had, because Archy refills your tankard every time you take a drink, but it can’t be that much. Just enough to help your hangover. “Then I drink more and it goes away.”

You can stop whenever you want.

You remember something Leliana said about it, when you first stumbled out of Orzammar so piss drunk they had to roll you down the Frostback.  
  
She said humans used to think the sky was the ceiling of some great cave. Story goes: their god crafted it to protect the world from whatever the fuck was out there. But it was too boring, or something, so He filled it up with the sun, the moons, and all the stars. Like some great mobile spinning over some great crib.  
  
Made you feel better, once upon a time, to think that things hadn’t really changed.  
  
But they did change. You needed them to change. You needed to get out of that fucking rut that Branka left you in and learn how to be you again. And you did, for a while. For a while, you were Oghren fucking Kondrat.  
  
You were a warrior who made it through the Blight.  
  
You made it through this morning. 

You can make it through this day.

The End.

Replay?

Ain't sodding right - all that nothing. Makes you feel like nothing yourself. Like you're just as empty as the sky and nothing but drink can fill you up.  
  
You barrel back into the Keep like a mad bronto, taking out a few servants along the way, until Sigrun stops you in the main hall.  
  
"Woah there, big guy," Sigrun raises her hands like you're some rearing beast of burden. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Everything," You say, but it comes out, "Sod off."  
  
"Yeesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Sigrun sniffs, "You wanna talk about it?"  
  
"Wanna drink about it, s'what I wanna do," You say.  
  
"Okay… that's one option," Sigrun says slowly. "But… that option hurt your family. It hurt your son. It hurt you. Maybe today's the day we pick option two, and you and I go talk about it. What do you say?" 

Today’s the day.


End file.
